A line had formed behind us.
“At the table.” He cocked his head. “Well, if you’re joining me.”
Last night hadn’t been my choice. He’d shown up at the bar, and it would’ve been rude for me to get up and leave. Even driving home hadn’t really been my choice. He’d offered—and taking a cab would’ve looked churlish.
Now, though? Entirely my decision. Somehow, though, the correct answer didn’t leave my mouth. “Sure. No sense in eating alone. Why take up two tables?”
He offered me a brilliant smile. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
Here we go again.
Fuck my life.
And my inability to let go of Jack Showalter.
Fuck, indeed.
CHAPTER 5
JACK
In my entire professional hockey career—hell, even before I went pro and was still trying to make it into major juniors—I’d always been scrupulous about professionalism. I followed dress codes to the letter. I lived and breathed my media training. When I’d come out early in my pro career, I’d understood the pressure of being the first and (at the time) only out gay player in the League; I’d made sure to keep my image pristine so no one could use me as an example of why people like us didn’t belong. Even my messy, contentious divorce had been polished to a shine in the public eye—mutual and amicable and we wished each other theverybest (though that hadn’t stopped the public and media from having a field day with it). My entire damn life was carefully molded around not disrupting my hockey career, and that had continued since I’d transitioned from player to coach.
All of which made me wonder for the millionth time why the fuck I was yet again leading myself into temptation with Devon.
The first night—fine. We’d been first-name-only anonymoushookups. I’d been too horny and stressed to stop and think about why we were staying in the same hotel right then. Once the clothes had come off, I’d been too into him to stop and question why, in addition to having an absolutely ripped, lean body, he also had a massive ass and thighs.
Fine. I could be forgiven for all that.
But once I’d figured out who he was, I should’ve shut off any part of my brain that wanted another taste of his kiss or his body. And last night—last night just had “shouldn’t have” written all over it. Full stop. Shouldn’t have.
And yet, here I was, sitting across from him at the breakfast table in the hotel where we’d hooked up.
Damage control. Now was the time for damage control.
I took a swallow of coffee and met Devon’s gaze across the table. Pretending not to notice, care, or be remotely aroused by the unflinching way he locked eyes with me, I said, “So… we are on the same page, right? About everything?”
“Everything?” Devon shrugged as he loaded some eggs onto his fork. “You mean, like we’re going to eat breakfast, go to the rink for a morning skate, do our pregame routines, and then have a hockey game tonight? That everything?”
I had a flash of irritation that he was being a smartass, but… maybe he wasn’t. Our interactions from here on out needed to start and end with hockey. Which was exactly what he was laying out.
Nodding, I said, “Yes. All of that.”
“Okay, then.”
That… that was it?
I couldn’t handle the intensity in his eyes anymore, so I shifted my own down to my breakfast. Eggs, ham, and fruit had never been more interesting.
As casually as could be, Devon asked, “Do you think we have a chance?”
My head snapped up. “A chance? What?” Hadn’t we just put this to bed?
He eyed me like I’d lost my mind. “Tonight? Against the Narwhals?”
Fuck’s sake. What did you think he meant, Jack?
I cleared my throat and busied myself cutting apart my ham. “It’s hard to say. This will be my first game coaching this team, and you and some of your other teammates will be on the roster for the first time.” Skewering a piece of ham on my fork, I added, “Tonight will be the test. See how we gel. See how it all works.”